Songtext von Gerald Lee Palmer

Gerald Lee Palmer Raises his daughter In a house in the suburbs He spent half of his life Makin' auto parts He dealt with the lay-offs And got an IT job And raised his kids like statistics Now every so often He thinks of his daughter She wakes up, Still consumed by his silence And he wonders why She don't call him She gets by, Goes through with her life She occasionally thinks about How it's his fault That she's fallen Belly up, belly up Belly up, belly up She's fallen, belly up Belly up, belly up She's fallen So we are all lonely We are all 'if only's We are all porcelain dolls on display We are all products of Hard-workin' Americans But we're roadblocks to efficiency We are the inaccuracies We are the victims of a culture that Defines happiness in economics And we wake up Unfulfilled by the silence of A million clueless fuckin' patriarchs Like Gerald Lee Palmer Who misses his daughter, But he never even talked to her And it's his own fault now that he's fallin' Belly up, belly up Belly up, belly up He's fallin' belly up Belly up, belly up He's fallin'